Chapter 17 – Aya’s Vulnerability

The next morning, Haru expected more of Aya’s quiet smirks and teasing ambushes in the hallway. Instead, what she saw froze her in place.

Aya looked… tired.

Not physically—Aya still carried herself with that easy, athletic grace—but there was something off in the way her shoulders slumped, in the faint shadows under her sharp eyes. Her usual teasing glint was gone, replaced by something hollow, like the light had dimmed.

Haru’s heart clenched painfully.

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Lunch Break – The Silence Between Them

They hadn’t spoken all morning. Haru sat at her desk during lunch, stabbing at her bento while sneaking glances at Aya across the room. Normally, Aya would have thrown a playful jab by now—maybe about Haru’s crooked glasses or her messy handwriting.

But Aya didn’t even look her way.

Instead, she sat with her chin propped on her hand, eyes fixed on the window, a half-eaten sandwich untouched in front of her.

Something inside Haru twisted. She hated it. Hated seeing Aya like that.

Before she could chicken out, Haru stood, legs trembling, and walked toward her.

“Aya,” she said softly.

Aya blinked, slow, like surfacing from deep water. Her gaze flicked up, and for a split second, Haru swore she saw raw pain flicker there—before Aya masked it with a faint smile.

“Hey, newbie,” Aya murmured. Her voice was hoarse, lacking its usual playful lilt.

Haru hesitated, then sat across from her. “You… look tired.”

Aya huffed a small laugh, resting her chin on her fist. “Guess I am.”

The quiet stretched, heavy and suffocating. Haru’s fingers fidgeted in her lap as words clawed at her throat.

Finally, Aya broke it—her voice barely above a whisper.

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“I thought…” Aya trailed off, exhaling shakily. “I thought if I stayed quiet, I wouldn’t lose you.”

Haru’s breath hitched. “Aya…”

Aya’s eyes locked onto hers then—dark, glassy, stripped bare.

“But then I saw him talking to you.” Her jaw clenched, like the memory was a blade twisting in her gut. “You were smiling. Laughing. And I… snapped.”

Haru’s chest constricted, her pulse roaring in her ears.

Aya looked down, voice cracking as she forced out the words. “I’ve never been like this before. Not for anyone. I hate it. I hate that I can’t control it. I hate that I…”

She broke off, trembling with the weight of what she didn’t say.

Haru swallowed hard, her throat thick with something hot and aching. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to do something—anything—to erase that hurt from Aya’s eyes.

So she did.

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Haru’s hand moved before her brain caught up. Fingers shaking, she reached across the table—slow, hesitant—and touched Aya’s hand.

Just the lightest brush of fingertips against the back of Aya’s knuckles. Barely anything.

But it was everything.

Aya froze. Her breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. Her eyes flicked up to Haru’s, wide, raw, searching.

Haru’s heart pounded so violently it hurt, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Not when Aya looked at her like that—like she was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying and beautiful.

“I…” Haru swallowed, voice trembling. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

The words hung between them, fragile as glass, but real.

Aya stared at her for a long, breathless moment. Then, slowly—so slowly—her hand turned beneath Haru’s, palm up, warm and calloused as her fingers curled gently around Haru’s trembling ones.

It was the smallest gesture in the world. And it shattered every wall Haru had left.

-

Aya’s thumb brushed against her knuckles—soft, reverent, lingering—and Haru’s entire body shivered as one thought burned through the chaos:

Maybe I don’t want to run anymore.

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